Everyone has moments in life where their body forces them to rely on other people to keep going. As someone who doesn’t particularly enjoy admitting to needing any help from anyone…ever… I don’t love when I am forced to seek it… but I have learned to embrace those times for what they teach me.
Last weekend, Richard ran his 2nd marathon. He had been training and was hoping to beat his time from last year. The alarm went off for him early on Saturday; he dressed in his team colt shirt, ate a small breakfast, and caught the bus that took him to the top of the canyon where the race began.
The Top of Utah Marathon doesn’t allow cars on the first 14 miles of the course, so that is where we waited to cheer him on. When we finally made out his outline running several hundred yards away, I noticed that he still looked powerful. He seemed so energized when he got up to us and even stopped for half a second to give Graci and I hugs and kisses before going on his way.
We stopped every two to three miles, and he continued to look great! There was no sign of him slowing down.
At about mile 20 he started getting a little more tired and crampy, even slowing to a brisk walk for a bit, but still looking strong and able.
When we saw him at mile 23, he didn’t look so good anymore. His walk had slowed… his complexion was grey… and there was no longer a smile on his face (which is a big deal for Richard). He was going slow enough Graci thought it would be fun to walk with him. I threw my camera and phone in the car with my parents, and the two of us joined his walk.
He wasn’t himself and didn’t even laugh at my playful banter that he usually loves so much. He was out of breath, and we were walking pretty slow… We didn’t make it very far before he had to stop. He was tingly everywhere, even his tongue, and couldn’t continue to stand, let alone walk.
Luckily there were two firemen stationed right where we were at this point, who gave him water and talked through his symptoms. We sat there for 45 minutes trying to do anything to help him feel better so he could go on. However, after trying to stand up for the second time, unsuccessfully, he turned to me with tears in his eyes and said, “I don’t think I can keep going, honey.”
I think both those firemen and I knew that even if he thought he could keep going, it wouldn’t have been a good idea. He was so pale and shaky… We knew this decision was the smartest.
I told him we would “see him at the finish line”.
The firemen loaded him into their side by side to take him to the aid station, as Graci and I continued making our way along the course to find the rest of our family. They should have been waiting not far away, but after walking nearly a mile with no sign of them, I knew I needed to change my approach. I borrowed another spectator’s phone and dialed my mom. She answered and told me she had seen Richard and was going to send my dad to get us.
In the few minutes it took my dad to get to us, I had made a decision to continue walking the course and finish the race. It was for our little ColtMan, we couldn’t leave it incomplete. When my dad pulled up, I loaded Graci in the car, told him my plan, and kept walking.
I could feel Colt with me as I walked, and had a feeling of peace as I realized that this was exactly how the race was supposed to end. After all, our life had never gone as planned.
I was joined for the last few blocks by my mom and two aunts; all crossing the finish line as a team, wearing our ‘Colt’ gear.
I quickly made it over to the aid station to check on Richard who didn’t look or feel much better, even after downing a whole I.V. bag, and seemed pretty disappointed that he had to quit early. I told him we finished for him, which helped ease his disappointment and even put a small smile back on his face.
It took several hours, after leaving and returning home, for him to regain his color and appetite, but once it was back he was STARVING!
I don’t know why his body quit on him… there was absolutely no reason it should have… in fact, he looked so much better than he did last year at this same race. He had never had problems getting the CO2 out of his body before... why did he struggle today? Whatever the reason, it did feel good to be the one to pick up the pieces and help him when he needed for once.
There have been numerous situations in our marriage where the roles have been reversed. So many times I have had to turn to Richard and express my feelings about not being able to keep going... during every tough pregnancy… each painful miscarriage… the unbearable death of my perfect little boy… sleepless nights where I’m sobbing because of my heartache… scary anxiety attacks that pop up out of nowhere… and just those days where I have too much on my plate…
He has never turned me away or told me I was being silly, but instead holds me and lets me cry. He lifts my burdens and is often found carrying me through the races of my life.
Richard’s love for me and our kids is the closest thing to Christ-like love I have ever witnessed. He always sacrifices his desires and comfort for us and makes sure we are taken care of before himself.
It is easy to understand my Saviors love when I have an earthly reminder each and every day of how precious and important I am as an individual. I know that just as I was able to pick up the pieces when Richard’s body failed him, or he does for me when I’m having a bad day, Christ is always there to help us when we can no longer continue on our life’s journeys.
When no other person on earth can ease our burdens and soothe our aching hearts, the Savior does. He is real, he is there, and he loves you more than you could possibly imagine. He will help each of us finish this race because we are promised that we will fail to do it by ourselves.
I have endured 500 long days of living without my precious little boy… 500 days of praying for the strength to get out of bed and pass his empty room… 500 days of relying on my Savior to carry me through this trial. Without his sacrifice and promise that I get to hold my son again, I know I would give up… and I wouldn’t let someone help me… I would stay between mile marker 23 and 24 forever…
So even though I have my own pride issues, and struggle to ask for help, I have learned that is exactly what I have to do. If I want to see my son again, I have to do every possible thing I can, and then ask for help to cover the rest.
